I am Responsible

I am sure to some readers the writing of my abortion experience may seem as though I am bragging about it. Or maybe that I am not taking responsibility for my part. Maybe I am placing blame on others.

It is a delicate balancing act for me. I do take responsibility for my part. But that is just it, my part. I was the one who was pregnant. I was the last in line to choose to have my children sucked out of me. I should have stood up for the sake of my daughters. The blame for the second abortion lies more on part than the first. That is a hard reality to take, but I take it. In the middle of the night I find myself saying aloud "I killed my children." Completely audible.

Am I the only one to blame? No. When the first pregnancy was confirmed I may not have been elated, but abortion sure as hell didn't come across my mind! There were others who led, maybe even manipulated me into relenting to the abortion. "Matt" for his non committal attitude. My mother for the turn around in support. My grandmother for the deception.

The common consensus is that people need to take the blame for their own actions. Yes, that is true. While the woman is the ultimate decider in whether to have the abortion; those who influence, coerce, or even at times force her, should accept their culpability in the death of the woman's child.
A few days ago I did a Google search about the statistics regarding the percentage of women who are coerced into abortion. Many websites and pro-life books state around 64%. Personally, I would believe the statistics to be at a much higher rate. From a website, The UnChoice, is this;

 Up to 64 percent of abortions involve feelings of being pressured to have an abortion, and other factors, such as rushed, deceptive, negligent or conflicted or profit-driven counseling, can also have a significant and often synergistic coercive effect.⁴ Furthermore, based on even the most minimal standards of care and human rights, such assembly-line care is exploitative at best and a recognized human rights abuse, even under liberal abortion laws.

Full article of How Common is Coercion, here.

Does He Even Remember Me?

That's a question I asked myself last night while trying to sleep.

I sometimes have dreams about getting back together with "Matt." Many times it comes to fruition. But then he disappears. Or one of us we will try to contact each other, yet missing a connection. We are never parents in any of the dreams. I never really gave much thought to any of these dreams, other than wonder where that came from after waking up.

Until last night. I was thinking about him. Thought about the good times and the bad times. And yes, there were good times. But does he remember any of them? Does he remember the woman he dated for a year and a half? Does he remember the woman whom he impregnated? Does he ever wonder if the child really was lost to miscarriage? Did he ever wonder if she was pregnant before breaking up with him? If he thought yes, did he wonder what happened to that child?

Does he even remember her name? Does he remember what she looks like? Does he remember that he was her first...everything?
I remember the first time he kissed me. I giggled. It was nothing against him. I wasn't laughing at him. I was almost twenty years old, and had never been kissed! Heck, I had never even dated anyone! It was a nervous reaction. I remember when he first told me he loved me. I just couldn't bring myself to say it back. He was rather offended by that. I wasn't sure if I did love him. I didn't know what love is. Perhaps I still don't. I did end up reciprocating the sentiment. But did I mean it? Did he mean it? I don't know. Perhaps, on both accounts.
I remember the first time he tried to have sex with me. I remember being swept away and taken in. Almost relenting. Then pulling back. I remember the first time of surrendering to him. The details of which would not be appropriate to speak of.

During the breakdown of 2014 I did check on Facebook to see if he had a profile set up. Not really that I wanted to reconnect, just checking to see if he was on there. What would I even say to him? Why would I tell him that I was contacting him after all this time? At that time he was in a relationship. He may or may not still be.

I have since found out that he now has a son. Doing the math, that son is less than a year younger than what Hanelore would be. Because I don't know the exact mathematics of that boy's birth month or even when Hanelore's due date would have been; I am not sure if "Matt" impregnated another woman towards the end of our relationship or soon after my breaking up with him.
There is a bit of hurt in that. Whether he was cheating on me or started a relationship soon after the break up. I can't help but wonder what was so special about the mother of his son that she was "allowed to" give birth to his child, but I wasn't. Did she have support from "Matt"? Did she have support from her family? Or was she stronger than me and stood up to them all? Is she the woman "Matt" is in a relationship with, or was recently? Does "Matt" look at his son and think that the son may or may not have a sister? Does he regret his non committal attitude toward my pregnancy with Anastasia? 

The Crying Child Within

There's a perpetual child within me. She cries. Not all the time. But she's crying now. Why is there a child in me? Why is she crying? I want to let her out. Yet, I want to keep her within me.

It's been three years since my breakdown of January 2014. I am not sure where to start. As the breadown did not just happen at once out of the blue. But rather gradually, until it just blew.

While I do try to avoid mentioning identifiers about myself. I think I need to mention that I used to do seamstress work from out of my home. I think that may be a good place to start.

I had left my full time job to do sewing and alterations work from home. I had been doing that during my off time from work. Business had been picking up, before quitting the regular job. There were a few lulls and pick ups.
Sometimes the lulls would be quite long. Being short on money and not knowing where my next meal was coming from could cause little breakdowns themselves. When I had the good pick ups and would be paid well it would be a balancing act between purchasing quality supplies for future projects and food.

My specialty was alterations on bridal and formal. Though I did work on most any type of sewing; from lightweight simple repairs to heavy-duty heavyweight fabrics.
The formal work was the best. I thoroughly enjoyed working with the clients, their friends and mothers.

Yet, I think the connections with the clients may have been the lead in to my break down. Ever since the abortions, in certain ways, I was perpetually young. On a subconscious way I didn't see myself aging into someone old enough to have a teen child.
Yet it was while I would be having conversations with the mothers. We would talking about basic news, local issues, politics, music from when we were younger, how things were different when we were kids and teens. Then it hit me, I was older than I felt.

It still took a while to make the connection that not only was I old enough to have children who were teenagers. I was supposed to have teenage children! I can pinpoint the moment it dawned on me that I should have teenage girls. There I was standing at the kitchen sink. Washing dishes.
All of a sudden I found myself saying something to the effect of "my child is going to college." Where did that come from? Can't remember if I said it aloud, mumbled under my breath, moved my lips without vocalization, or just a strong thought. But there it was. Not only was I talking to myself, I was talking nonsense that wasn't even relevant to my life! Then I said, "my daughter is getting ready for prom." Still didn't click yet, in regards to my past.

This would have been about January of 2014. I ended up catching a cold or the flu. Or something. Decided to rest up on the sofa. Even after coming over the sickness, I still just couldn't do anything. If I got the snow shoveled, I was good for the day. Didn't even have the desire to do any sewing.
Fortunately I didn't have any customer projects that needed done. Oddly, before this time I would be all excited to take a call for a new project. Not anymore. When the phone would ring I would avoid answering and letting it go straight to voicemail. Figuring I would listen to the message later. Couldn't feel up to that. I did not want to deal with people.

There was this feeling I couldn't explain. I felt as though I were trapped within myself. I wanted to jump out of my body and run far away from myself. Yet, I wanted to hide farther within myself. I felt as though I was crying within myself. While no physical tears were released. It was as if there was a small child within me crying.

Then, it was while laying on the sofa, for some reason I decided to Google D&C abortions. Not sure what compelled me to do that. That, that, that is the moment EVERYTHING finally clicked! No, this was not a happy moment. Not at all. D&C was the type of procedure for the second abortion.
All the memories kept flooding back. It all came full circle. I remembered the abortions. It still did not feel like a memory of something that happened to me. More in the vein of being outside of myself. Remembering that it happened to a young twenty something woman I once knew.

I began to search for as much information about abortion as I could. Still can't say why. I knew I needed help and healing. But where to look? I knew about pro-life organizations that want to end abortion. Was using all kinds of search words. In my searching I did find a few sites for healing. Some were of words of encouragement. Some gave words of help to healing. There were even a few organizations that helped directly, such as Rachel's Vineyard. Some where one could write and/or call to talk with someone.
I was not ready to take that step. What would I say? How would I even begin?

This is not the end...

I'm Mad at God!

Well, not really. Well, yes, maybe. I don't know.

I am coming up over a cold that had me bed ridden for a while, other than going to work. But not only that, it is around about the time my first child (Anastasia) would have been conceived twenty years ago. Funny thing about when you are sick in bed; not much you can do except sleep, read, watch online movies, and think. The thinking is what can sometimes knock you down. Heck, even the sleeping, if you are notorious for weird dreams. Which I am.

Been having buttload of baby and young child dreams. Nothing I can really remember much of. Sometimes it can just be simply giving birth. Having the baby in my life, yet being kept at arms lengths from being able to hold her. An older child being introduced to her new sibling. Being at an airport or some sort of transportation center; handing children over to some random woman and saying goodbye.

OK. That being said; let's get to the title of this post. The phrase "hindsight is 20/20" seems to be fitting for my current situation. When I have been awake I am just mopey. Hard to clean house, fix a meal, or do any regular household chores. Just sit and stare. While not technically a thing, I would call it "conception mourning." I already Googled to see if the description existed. Nope. I guess there is a rock band by that name, or a song.
I have read that women who have had abortions will mourn many anniversaries surrounding the abortion(s). One of those times could be in regard to the time the child was conceived. Probably true for women who have experienced miscarriages.
Looking back, that could be consciously or sub-consciously. In my case, I think it is leaning more towards the sub-contentiously. January has always been a sucky month for me. Never knew why. Always attributed to coming down from the holidays. Which could easily be true. But not the complete picture.
It was about this time three years ago, in 2014, in which I had my first break down. I felt like absolute crap! Yet I didn't know why. Oh, this has got to be a whole separate post as to when my break down and memories started. I will get to that soon. Hopefully sooner than later.

In the looking back, I feel as though I am mad at God. Where was He during the "family intervention"? Why didn't He give me the words to convince my family that abortion was wrong? Why didn't He smite my family; mom, aunt, grandmother? OK, maybe that's a bit harsh. Why didn't He at least temporarily incapacitate them, to give me time to get away from them? I could have run off and hid until I could find something resembling a nineties version of a crisis pregnancy center. Where was He the night before the abortion? Where was He when I walked into that clinic? Where was He just before the abortion happened? Where was He afterward?
Actually, come to think of it, where was God when I first met "Matt"? Where was He when"Matt" was first trying to seduce me? Where was He the night I finally did relent?

As has been stated in the post about the abortion itself, I came to a "conclusion" "that there is no God." But the reality is; I rejected God before the abortion. Sure, I had been baptized as a toddler. Sure, my mother occasionally took me to Sunday school, sometimes keeping me with her during church services. Sure, I did attend church during high school. Even belonging to the teen club at church and joining the teen choir. Of course calling myself a Christian. But I didn't really have much of a prayer life, nor attended church after graduating high school.
So, basically I didn't turn to Him during any of the moments leading up to the abortion. Didn't pray for the relationship between "Matt" and myself. Didn't pray about my child after I became pregnant. Don't remember much about what I was doing or thinking in the time between the "intervention" and the abortion. But I do know I didn't pray about it.

So in the end, it is myself I am mad at me. Not God.

(Since the time of the abortion I have since came back to church. It has been a journey. Becoming a member of a denomination different than that which I grew up. Joining a church of another denomination, once again. But this time I am sticking to it to the end. Have a much stronger prayer life. Perhaps I will talk about that at a later time.)